False Prey: A Wildfire Novella (Wildfire Saga)

by Marcus Richardson

  “So when did your trouble start? Did Mr. Moore—”

  “Oh no, he didn’t do anything. He was very nice, kept telling me how lucky I was my car hadn’t exploded. Made me think I needed to buy a lottery ticket, you know? He took his time showing me what was wrong with the car and when I told him to just fix it all and gave him the company credit card, he nearly fell over himself. He complained that business had pretty much died off because people weren’t traveling as much, you know what I mean? He treated me like a prince—set me up in the Holiday Inn just north of town by the interstate, got someone to drive me there with all my things. Got me a bus pass and promised to let me know as soon as it was ready. I told him I’d give him an extra hundred dollars if he got it done by the end of the week.”

  “How long did it take before the trouble started?”

  Sang sighed again. “Three days. Three days of sitting around my hotel room—” he laughed, “—it’s a lot nicer than this one, by the way.”

  “Hey,” said Danny, hand over his chest in mock-offense. “Only the best for my sources.”

  Sang laughed again. It was good to hear someone laugh. “Anyway, I moped around, sent a few texts to my wife when the signals went through, and just listened to all the bad news. Finally I had enough and had to get out and walk around. That was Sunday. Today’s Tuesday, right? God, a week ago I was sitting in the conference room at the Boone Center. You ever been there?”

  “Nope, I’m a Rutgers man.”

  “Nice place. They got all this wood trim—I think it was mahogany or something. Anyway, the place looked like it was right out of Colonial Williamsburg or something. Real swanky.”

  Danny nodded and said, “So, that was six days ago…”

  Sang rested his head against the wall as he sat on the lumpy bed. “Yeah…six days later and my life has gone completely to shit.”

  Danny lit up another cigarette. He looked at the smoldering roll of paper and tobacco in his fingers. He knew he should slow down, but something told him not to worry. The drug store had been pretty much wiped out of smokes. He had checked. He bought a discount brand—even though he hated the taste—just to have something when his regular stash ran out. He did not want to be going cold turkey in the middle of all this flu business.

  This is it—last one till dinner, he told himself sternly. He was so focused on the cigarette, he hadn’t noticed Sang was still talking.

  “—bus to take me into town. I figured I may as well walk around and see what there was to do in Brikston, since I was going to be stuck here for a few more days until all the parts arrived. Mr. Moore said his deliveries were getting all…what did he call it? Oh yeah, ‘cattywompus’.” Sang laughed. “Freakin’ hillbilly. You know how it is with these people.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Danny.

  “Well,” said Sang, looking like he was surprised Danny hadn’t caught on yet. “You know…because you’re black. I mean…right?”

  Danny looked at Sang. “I’ve been here for about two weeks now and haven’t noticed anyone treating me any different. Plenty of black folk here in town.” He wrote in his notes: who’s more racist, them or him?

  “Okay, forget I mentioned it,” said Sang, looking back up at the ceiling, clearly embarrassed. “I guess it’s just me they don’t like.” He sighed. “Anyway, I was just window shopping—mostly looking for something I could get the kids, you know? Just killing time. Then I notice a cop car parked across the street. The same cop that…hit me. Back at the church.”

  Danny nodded. “Officer Perkins.”

  Sang shrugged. “I don’t know his name—the one without the flu mask. Sadistic son of a bitch.” Sang rubbed his injured arm and frowned. Eventually he spoke again: “Anyway, for the next couple hours, those cops were following me around town, always right there behind me, just watching. Then I see that cop roll down his window and call over a guy walking down the street. It was weird, you know? ‘Cause I’d seen that guy twice just that morning. He’s the one they called Mosby. I saw him at the coffee shop and coming out of the computer store. Anyway, him and that cop had a long talk.”

  “So you’re just standing there in the street watching them?” asked Danny.

  “No, I was looking at their reflection in the window of that electronics store on Main Street…what’s it called, A+ Computing or something? Anyway, right after the cop talks to this guy he just stares at me for a long time. The cop eventually left, so I just forgot about it.” Sang sighed and stared at the ceiling as he spoke. “The next thing I know, there’s a group of people watching me across the street. Men, women, a few teenagers. But that Mosby guy is gone. That’s when I started to get creeped out, you know? Then someone shouts that I was the one who’d gotten his wife sick. I turned around and was like, what?”

  Danny checked his notebook. “Let’s see, today is Tuesday…so that was last Saturday, right?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “Yeah, I guess that’d be right around when the first people started getting sick in town, according to the nurse I talked to at the hospital.”

  Sang nodded. “Right—they were starting to blame me. Because all Asians look the same—so I must be from North Korea, you know?” his mouth twisted into an ironically, then turned into a frown. “No one bothered to ask.” He looked at Danny. “For the record, I was born in Ohio. I went to OU—Buckeyes all the way, baby.” A smile played across his lips for a brief flash, then vanished. “My parents came from the Philippines, but I’ve never been to Korea—either one. I’ve never even been to Canada, man.”

  Danny nodded and wrote that down, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He looked up, pen hovering over the notebook. “Your wife?”

  “She’s from California.” He smiled, a dream-like expression. His eyes were focused on something far, far away from the dingy hotel room. “Emalee.” Sang blinked and seemed to see Danny for the first time. He nodded. “Her grandparents are from China.”

  Danny shook his head in disgust. “The race angle is a bit over-played these days, but in this case I think it’ll be a good hook,” he said around his cigarette.

  “What?”

  “Oh just my inner-editor talking out loud. Never mind. So, this little group of locals—they started shouting at you…?”

  Sang sat up painfully and put his back against the wobbly headboard on his bed. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Before I knew it, there was a crowd there. Mostly men, but a few women and even some kids—looked like high-schoolers. Everyone started talking and shouting at once—I couldn’t talk loud enough for them to hear me. I gave up and tried to move on but a couple big guys kept stepping in front of me.”

  “Did they attack you?”

  “No,” said Sang. He looked at his hands. “They were almost afraid to get too close to me. It’s like they thought I was infected or something. But they didn’t want me to leave. Finally I just kept walking and they stepped aside rather than let me walk right into them. But they followed me.”

  “The big guys?”

  “The whole crowd. Shouting at me, yelling insults—blaming me for some guy’s wife getting sick. I had no idea what that was about. I never even talked really to anyone outside of the hotel and the repair shop.” He looked at Danny. “You get anything to eat while you were out?”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Danny, putting the cigarette back in his mouth as he dug into the second plastic bag at his feet. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He pulled out a big bag of Combos and a few apple-pie pastries. He passed those and a bottle of water over to Sang. “Here you go—it’s not exactly gourmet, but it’ll get us through today, I think.”

  Sang tore open a pastry and bit into it, closing his one good eye with pleasure. “This is so good,” he muttered around a mouthful of the sweet treat. “I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast yesterday.”

  Danny let him eat for a moment and polish off half the water bottle. “What happened next?” he asked.

  Sang chewed thoughtfully and looked at the wa
ter bottle. “Someone threw a rock and hit me in the back. It didn’t hurt, but it scared the hell out of me and made them awful brave. More rocks flew. I ran. I found a bus around the corner and ran to it, hoping it would take me back to the Holiday Inn. When the driver opened the door for me to get on, someone shouted that I was a spy and spreading the flu. The driver slammed the door shut and drove off, leaving me there with those psychos.”

  “What’d you do?” asked Danny, taking another short drag on his cigarette. He was trying to make it last.

  “What do you think I did? I ran for my life!” Sang shook his head. “I lost them pretty quick—I don’t think they were all that serious about hurting me. But without that bus, I was really screwed. I tried to call the hotel to have them send the courtesy van, but I guess the cell phone towers are all shut down. Couldn’t get a signal.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Every place, every shop I tried to hide in, they all turned me out—some more polite than others, but in the end, no one would let me come in their buildings. By then, it had started getting dark.”

  “Where did you spend the night?”

  Sang shuddered. “In a damn alley, filled with trash that hadn’t been picked up. I slept under a piece of rotting cardboard, because word had spread around town that I was some sort of spy, and no one cared to listen to the truth No one around here can tell the difference between a Filipino and a Korean, I guess.” He glared at the ceiling and took another small bite from the pastry. Sang chewed in silence for a moment.

  “It’s just ridiculous,” commiserated Danny. He flicked the stump of his cigarette through the window and glanced at the darkening sky. Definitely rain on the way.

  “Yeah, well, it gets better,” said Sang. “I woke up the next day—yesterday—and no sooner than I tried to dust myself off and stagger out into the sunlight than someone sees me and shouts. I think these nut-jobs were out all night looking for me!” He shook his head. “I was so stunned I just stood there. Then a brick smashed the store window next to where I was standing. Man, if it had been just two inches to the left, it would have split my forehead open. It was crazy.”

  “Was that when you found the church?”

  “No, that was later,” Sang muttered. He took a long draught from the water bottle, nearly emptying it. “No, I ran most of the morning and into the afternoon, ducking down alleys, hiding behind parked cars, that sort of thing. There were groups of people looking for me, roaming the streets. More people than I’d seen on the street at any point since I got here. They’re all worried about the flu but when it came to tracking me down, no one had any problem bunching up and walking around together.” Sang sniffed again. “They might be right, you know? Maybe it was my fault the flu spread so fast here?”

  “How can you say that? You’re innocent,” said Danny. He smiled. “Right? Or are you really a spy after all?”

  “Oh, totally,” Sang said and rolled his eyes. “Seriously, think about it—the government tells us to stay inside and away from groups of people—that’s how this ‘mystery flu’ spreads so fast, isn't it? Well these people spent all night roaming around looking for me—in groups—so if one of them had it, they all were exposed pretty quick, right? That makes me somehow responsible, doesn’t it?” He sighed. “It’s twisted, but in a way, I have to laugh—they deserve it for trying to make me out as a spy. Talk about Karma.”

  Danny laughed. “You might be onto something there.” He scribbled that thought down. “So when did you get to the church?”

  Sang tilted his head back against the headboard. “Not long after lunchtime, I guess. I remember being really hungry. Then I saw a car and ran the opposite direction. Up Main Street and ran right into the church.” He shrugged again. “I got inside and got trapped. The priest tried to help me…but I think he got hurt trying to stop them I feel terrible about that.”

  Danny nodded. “Don’t worry, Father Martin will be fine. He’s a tough old man.”

  “Good,” said Sang, closing his eyes.

  Danny clicked off the digital recorder. “Well, I think that’s enough for now. You probably need to get some sleep now that you’ve got some food in your stomach.” He stood up. “Listen, you keep the door locked and don’t open it for anyone, got it?”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice. But where are you going?” asked Sang.

  “I’m going to go talk to some people in town, try to find out what all this is really about.”

  “I just told you…”

  “I know, but a good reporter gets both sides of every story. It’s up to the reader to make judgment calls. I’m going to go talk to the judge and the cops. I think there’s a follow-up story about police brutality in the making here.”

  “Well, whatever,” said Sang. He rolled over onto his uninjured side, facing away from the door. “I’m beat. Just shut the window and crank up the AC, will you?”

  “Sure thing,” said Danny. He closed the window and locked it. “Just stay low and no one will know you’re here. I’ll be back in a little bit—I’ll try to bring dinner with me.”

  Danny shut the door and heard the click of the lock. He looked up at the gray sky, pregnant with low hanging clouds.

  If I break this as an abuse of police powers story…CNN already has a whiff of what’s going on…this could be real big. Maybe get my editor’s desk back… He stepped onto the gravel driveway and got into his car. Time to do some investigating.

  CHAPTER 6

  Danny left the motel parking lot and drove slowly back through the deserted town. He clicked on the radio, heard the emergency alert siren again followed by a depressingly long list of infected cities in the area to avoid, then switched it off.

  He mulled over the facts in his head. If Sang was telling him the truth, then at best the only thing going on here was just stereotypical country-boy racism. Not doing anything for the Southern Image, that’s for sure—nothing too terribly exciting, either. But the mystery flu was only part of the story since it had only killed a few hundred people as it spread across the country. But there were tens of thousands who were sick and getting worse—and more falling ill by the hour. The people in Brikston were awful scared. He could see it in their eyes when he stopped to buy food or something to drink and didn’t wear his mask.

  I suppose if this was my town and some stranger showed up and people started getting sick after he arrived…and he happened to look a little like the people who had started all this mess…maybe I’d be willing to shoot first and ask questions later, too. Especially if I still had a family to protect. But that doesn’t excuse what they did to Thomas—I don’t care who you look like.

  Danny sighed. Maybe I’m just reading too much into this. Maybe it really is just a case of fear run amok. Maybe these people are just trying to make themselves feel a little more secure by having their little witch hunt. I don’t know…

  Still…a little voice in the back of his head doggedly refused to give up the story. If nothing else, he could present it as a behind-the-lines expose to CNN or the other big networks. FOX would eat this up, for sure.

  Before long, Danny had parked in the municipal lot again and walked up the short steps to the great slab of granite that served as the city hall, courthouse, and police station. There were less cars in the parking lot than before—a feat hard to accomplish considering how few there were earlier in the day—but there was no shortage of people milling about. Most wore flu masks. They gave him plenty of dirty looks and the murmur of conversation died down as he passed, but no one said anything. Until he reached the door.

  “Korean lover!”

  He ignored them and the sudden laughter was silenced as the heavy glass door closed behind him.

  Korean lover? He remembered Sang’s question about how the people in town treated him. Whatever.

  He headed for the Clerk of the Court’s office. She looked up from her cluttered desk and the smile forming on her face died a premature death. She was overweight, wore too much makeup, and smelled like the perfu
me counter at Macy’s. “Oh. You. Again,” she said in a monotone voice.

  “Yes. Me. Again,” he said in what he hoped was a charming voice. Danny smiled and drummed his fingers on the desk and said, “Listen Dollface, is Judge Klein in? I’d like to ask him a few questions for The Tribune.”

  “He doesn’t like reporters. And anyway, I’m afraid Judge Klein is—”

  “Send him in, Kathy,” the grizzled voice floated through the office from an open door behind the Clerk.

  She sighed and jerked a pink-tipped thumb over her broad shoulder. “Go on in.”

  “You’re the best, Kathy—I owe you one, Sugar.”

  The Judge met him halfway into the large office. The floor-to-ceiling window blinds had been raised, letting in the mid-day sun and showcasing the fancy-looking wood paneling that positively enveloped the office. Danny took a quick look around as he stepped toward the old judge.

  “Welcome, welcome!” said the ancient jurist, gathering his black robes about him like a wrinkled Caesar wrapping himself in a soot-stained toga. He extended a skeletal hand and made a pained expression that Danny took for a smile.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Judge Klein.” Danny glanced at the rows upon rows of legal books lining the wall behind the judge’s imposing Federal-style desk. “Nice office you got here—must be half the building!”

  “What, this old thing?” the judge said with obvious pride. “Oh, it’s not all that big. Just a little space for me to gather my thoughts between trials. Come in, sit down,” he said, motioning toward a leather wingback chair facing the desk.

  Danny sat and cleared his throat. “I’m a reporter with The Louisville Tribune—”

  “Mmmhmmm, I’ve heard of it.” The old man grimaced again. “I always have time for my friends in the Press,” the judge said with another graveyard smile.

  Danny tried not to cringe. “That’s great, Your Honor. I’ll get right to the point—I’m sure you’re a very busy man.” The judge nodded in self-important satisfaction and leaned back in his impressive leather swivel chair—set a few inches higher than necessary, Danny noted.